


I plan on being a fuck-up until my late twenties, maybe even my early thirties.

by apiphile



Category: Misfits
Genre: M/M, contempt and disdain and facials, dirty dirty toilet sex, drooling blowjobs, happy birthday liza, one day that mouth will get you in trouble, prostitution for a sandwich, this is unpleasant, well it wouldn't be me if there wasn't pee, who lets me write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apiphile/pseuds/apiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthday porn for Liza: Nathan's mouth gets him in trouble and fails to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I plan on being a fuck-up until my late twenties, maybe even my early thirties.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizapod](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lizapod).



The community centre bathroom smells of piss.

Of course it smells of piss, it's a fucking men's bathroom, what kind of freak goes around mopping up all the little splashes that ping off the main stream? Nathan doesn't even bother washing his hands most times, that's how you end up with OCD and weird freaky little mentalisms like that.

He's whistling _Love Will Tear Us Apart_ when whatshisface, their case worker, probation officer, the fuckwit with the face like miserable lemon juice sneaks up behind him and says, "You need to drink more water."

"Yeah?" Nathan says, tossing his head in the hope of getting buoyant curls up that prick's nose, "You need to wear aftershave that doesn't come from Poundland."

"And you would benefit from wearing _any_ deodorant - do you actually wash? At all? Nathan?"

"Wednesdays," Nathan says pleasantly, shaking his cock hard enough that the remaining drops of piss hit the walls on either side of him. "I wash my balls on Wednesdays, with your mineral water. Why, do you want to come and watch?"

"Really?" Nathan forces a manic smile. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer them on your cock? I'm good. Twenty seconds."

To his small surprise - after all, all they normally do is antagonise each other, it doesn't matter how gorgeous Nathan knows himself to be - the probation officer inclines his head to one side (what the hell is his name? Steven? Fred? Fuckface?) and says, "Alright then."

"What -"

"What," Fuckface repeats, pushing Nathan's hands together in his grip and smirking. "You offered. I'm taking you up on it. I've got twenty minutes -" he looks at his watch, "- twenty-two minutes left of my lunch. Thrill me, and I might let you have some."

"Oh like that's a fucking offer," Nathan stutters. "I'm not giving you a special off the wrist for half a fucking homemade sandwich."

"They're M&S," says Steven-Brian-James-Dickhead, with another one of his annoying smirks like he's just smelled something foul, "and you live on shit you nick from the vending machines - which, by the way, are being replaced - before having a sad little wank alone up there." He jerks his head.

"Are you _mental_?" Nathan snorts, trying to pull his hands free. Gary ... Marvin ... whatever his name is ... is stronger than he looks.

"Security cameras," he says, succinctly. "I've been deleting the footage. Security company doesn't need to see that." There's a silence. "So I suppose you owe me, don't you? Nathan."

"Yeah _right_ ," Nathan snaps, "I owe you a phonecall to the fucking police for touching up kids -"

"Riiiiight. Because they'll believe ... you."

A tap drips. "What? I'm a perfectly believable upstanding youth."

"You're a juvenile delinquent," John-Bradley-Graham-Thingy corrects, and he points his free finger at Nathan's face. "I am a pillar of the community. Good, isn't it? Twenty minutes, one M&S cheese and pickle sandwich."

"Don't I even get a cup of tea?" Nathan pouts, trying to make his eyes bigger. "I mean, look at me. I'm _beautiful_. You look like a basset hound with a haircut. I've got to be worth more than a sandwich."

"Oh come _on_ ," Nathan protests, nearly tripping over his shoelaces, "how often do you get the chance to blow your load on someone like _me_?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Nathan wouldn't, actually, like to know, because he just doesn't give a shit who else gets a spoonful of Robert Thingy's tadpole jelly. He wants Tetley's and a sandwich made with actual bread and he wants it without having to _ask Curtis nicely **again**_.

The cubicle door closes and Nathan gets down on his knees on the damp tiles. They're - hopefully - just damp with soap since the cleaning lady was around only half an hour ago (and she screamed like a fucking retard when he leapt out at her, again - he's starting to think she's genuinely medically backward), but it's not exactly where he wanted to spend the afternoon.

"Well," Nathan grunts, looking up at Martin-Dean-Joseph-Whatever's nostrils and chins, "get it out."

"Oh _fuck you_ ," Nathan splutters.

"Nope," he repeats, "you can stop trying to upsell me. Blowjob, and you get your sarnie and your cup of tea and then piss off out of my sight, alright? Now get on with it, or I'll put down in your evaluation that you haven't completed your hours and were 'insufficiently contrite'."

 _Insufficiently contrite_ is possibly the only accurate phrase anyone has ever used to describe Nathan, apart from "prick", which might as well be his middle name.

He scissors his fingers toward Julian-Norman-Fucknose's flies with the wrinkled nose of disdain, and as he does there's an overhead comment, "If you look like that every time you go down on someone it's no wonder you can't get a girlfriend."

"I could have a girlfriend," Nathan mutters. "I could have _several_ girlfriends. I am too much man for one woman to handle."

"Unless you're putting my dick in your mouth, keep it shut, yeah."

He takes Leonard-Barney-Benjamin's cock out; it's normal, no one's chopped anything off it and there aren't any pervert barbells in it or weird lumps or spots and it smells of dick rather than disease, but he's still not exactly salivating to get it in his mouth. Someone pees out of that thing.

"Get on with it," says the probation officer in a bored voice. "If I don't come by the end of my lunch break, you're not getting any lunch."

"Don't you be impugning my blowjob skills," Nathan warns. Admittedly, he's not exactly sucked a lot of cock, what with the being straight as a very straight thing that only occasionally drunkenly stuffs penises into its mouth, but he's got to be good at it. He's amazing at _getting_ blowjobs.

That _bloke_ grabs a handful of Nathan's hair so hard that his eyes water and Nathan's pretty sure he can feel some of his lovely locks tearing out of his scalp, and it fucking hurts, and he's _really not into that_ ; before he can do any complaining, what with the cock in his mouth, thingy whatshisface jerks Nathan's head forward by the hair and nearly stabs him in the back of the throat with cock.

 _"Olfghgrrrkk_ ," Nathan protests.

"Not so gobby now, eh?"

 _Not when you're trying to make me vomit with your bell-end, no_ , Nathan thinks crossly, but there's not much he can do besides try to grab at Kevin-Greg-Bastard's wrist and miss, and then two fingers pinch his nostrils closed and he gets another tonsil-battering with the end of a cock.

Nathan opens his mouth a bit wider so he can actually _breathe_ , since Bastard McChildTouchy's cock isn't as girthy as all that, but all that happens is he starts _drooling_.

" _Try_ to keep your spit inside your face," the probation officer says, sounding more exasperated than unrelentingly aroused. And then he fucking yanks on Nathan's hair again, which doesn't really help him keep all his saliva in place - it runs down his chin and then the probation officer's balls slap Nathan on the chin and all in all, it's pretty fucking nasty.

Bob the fucking probation fucking officer _fucks all the saliva out of Nathan's mouth_ and down onto the front of his t-shirt; twice Nathan nearly gags on cock and his scalp feels like it's on fire by the time that _bastard_ pulls out, makes a sound like a warthog being mugged, and comes on Nathan's face.

"Ow my _fucking_ hair," Nathan complains as soon as he can. "Ow. My eyes. My throat. You rapist."

"That was probably the worst blowjob I have ever had in my adult life," Shaun says, patting Nathan on the head. "And that's including the one I tried to give myself when I was fifteen."

"I still get the tea and the sandwich, right?" Nathan yelps, jumping to his feet and smacking his shoulder on the toilet-roller holder. "I mean, fair's fair. You definitely ... definitely came -" he gestures to the semen still hanging off his eyebrows.

"Mm," Shaun says, looking thoughtful as he tucks his cock back into his trousers and wipes his palm on Nathan's shoulder. "Not sure about that."

"We had a deal," Nathan complains, jabbing his finger toward Shaun's face. "You said, a sandwich and a cup of tea for a blowjob."

"Tough shit," Shaun smiles, stepping backward out of the cubicle with a sarcastic wave. "Do better next time and I'll consider it."


End file.
